Precipice
by Ignatius J. Reilly
Summary: Erik has just been rejected by Christine and is in desperate need of comfort and human contact before he loses what little sanity he has left. Approximately 1,000 word one-shot, full-masked dark Erik.


_Approximately 1,000 word oneshot. Erik has just been rejected by Christine and is in desperate need of comfort and human contact before he loses what little sanity he has left. Full-masked DARK Erik. Warning: Angst and nonconsensual sex ahead! Hope you enjoy it! :) _

Marceline pulled her shawl tighter around her thin shoulders. "Where to, monsieur?" she asked softly. Even through his grim and resolute exterior, Erik could detect a pleasant, bell-like quality to her voice. It was strangely more appealing than the tight low-cut corseted dress the girl wore.

"This way, mademoiselle," he murmured gruffly, "in here." He opened the door to a humble but not inexpensive looking apartment building. They snuck quietly up the stairs, and he opened one of the numbered doors. She peered anxiously into the room.

"It is very lovely, monsieur," she looked up at his expressionless golden eyes.

The man nodded curtly, and then for the first time glanced into her innocently wide brown gaze. _So much like _hers_…_

He swallowed, knowing that some god would surely send him to the deepest pit of hell for what he was going to do. He could feel his sanity as if it was a tightrope, swaying back and forth precariously, as though one word could cause him to snap. "Get on the bed." Then he caught another glimpse of those sweet brown eyes. _Oh gods…Christine…_

Tears welled as Marceline did what she was told and recalled what her mistress had instructed her to do. The young woman pulled the straps of her dress off and lay down. She bent her knees and spread her legs slightly, waiting for the tall masked man to come down upon her.

He never did.

Marceline sat up warily. "Monsieur?"

The man was slumped over in the corner, his face in his hands. A muffled sob escaped his lips.

The young girl hesitantly drew up her dress and walked over to him. "Monsieur, I-"

"Don't touch me," It was amazing how a once lulling and beautiful voice such as his could become so harsh! "Go! Leave me."

Marceline, knowing somewhere in her mind that she would later regret it, grasped his clenched grip on his hair and with compassionate strength pulled his fingers. With his hands came away the midnight black mask.

Erik leapt up and roared, a mighty and furious sound that came from deep in his throat. He tossed the girl aside like a rag doll, shielding his face with his elbow. But it was too late.

Marceline went whiter than snow, gasping in shock as she fell. Was he a corpse? How could Death's head seem so alive? She desperately fought back nausea, thinking that if she was ill, it would make him angrier.

Erik snarled at the naive prostitute, who lay prostrate at his feet. "So, now you know that Death truly does walk among the living! Is it so surprising, dear mademoiselle, that so monstrous a face has the same desires as any other man?" he raged, knocking over a nightstand in his wrath. Then he whirled once more to her, his ghastly, carcass-like features suddenly animated in a frightening display. He crouched down to her level and held her pretty cheek with a hand as cold as the crypt itself, "Aren't I _handsome_, my dear? Isn't the man that will soon take your innocence so charming? Isn't it wonderful to learn, my darling, that the night you give yourself to handsome Erik, you give him yourself _for eternity_?" He sneered at the young woman, who truly did appear as if she was about to faint. "Isn't that wonderful, my dear?"

Marceline shuddered and turned away. Erik grinned and dragged her to her feet. "Come now, my darling, it is time for Erik to make love to his _new bride-to-be_!"

She fought against his hold fiercely. "Please, monsieur…" Erik pulled back the sheets and yanked her onto the bed. "Don't make me do this. Not now…"

He shook his fearsome head, a horrifying lopsided grin on his face. "But, my darling, you were the one who started all this! You removed my mask, clearly with the intent to see as much of me as you could! I am only doing your bidding, mademoiselle," Erik climbed atop Marceline, straddling her hips. "I am not a cruel man." He proceeded to pull down her dress, baring her small chest. His amber eyes glazed over a bit and he brushed his lips against her neck and breasts. He kissed her cheeks and her hair, but never her lips.

"Mmmmm…" he sighed. "Christine, my love…"

Marceline froze as he continued to caress her body, all the while murmuring this other woman's name. She was filled with urgency all of the sudden as he moved her dress further downwards, and then she launched her attack. She hit her fists against his back and kicked his stomach and groin, hoping fervently for a miracle. The gown slid down to her ankles, and Marceline furiously continued to assault his thin but sturdy body. It wasn't working; she could feel every one of his ribs poking into her but he was as strong as an ox. Unceremoniously, he stuck two fingers into her clit. She groaned and lay back, her energy spent, as the man in black worked over her, shedding his trousers and undergarments. Erik was sweating now to as he glided into her worn body and pumped his erection in and out as he pleased, creating a lover's rhythm that he might as well be doing to a corpse. When he had finished, he didn't meet her gaze and shrugged back into his clothes.

She sobbed brokenly, clutching her dress to her chest as Erik allowed her to slip out of the bed and run to the door. Cold realization slithered into his conscience and awakened his forgotten sanity. He had never meant to go this far.

The pitiful man wept, clutching the bed sheets as a young woman in ragged dress raced out into the streets, crying, praying that a monster wouldn't follow her home.

***


End file.
